


A Ritual of Domination

by Moro



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Begging, Blood, Canon Universe, Crying, Degradation, Dirty Talk, F/F, Face Slapping, Femdom, Fingerfucking, Forced Exhibitionism, Forced Orgasm, Guilt, Implied Relationships, Oral Sex, Oversensitizing, Public Humiliation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ritual Public Sex, Rough Sex, Self-Hatred, Sex Toys, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, a surprise, cutting off clothes, this really got out of hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 05:50:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19350778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moro/pseuds/Moro
Summary: Making use of a little-known ritual the Commanders rarely acknowledged, Blodreina demonstrates to Wonkru that not even Clarke could pose a threat to her power and authority.





	A Ritual of Domination

The disorienting flicker of torchlight assaulted Clarke's eyes as her blindfold was pulled off.  The one who'd brought her here, a man she didn't recognize whose face bore the ornamental branding of (former) Azgeda, didn't give her a second glance as he walked away.  

Blinking repeatedly as her eyes adjusted, Clarke stared around at the chain link fencing that made up the "walls" of the bunker's improvised colosseum, from which a variety of weapons stained almost black with layer upon layer of old blood hung on small hooks.  The only place the fencing did not cover was a small alcove high above the arena, forming a sort of small balcony, against the back wall of which was a forbidding metal throne.  A red light emanated from the grate that made up the back of the throne, bathing the small alcove in an eerie, oppressive glow that the faint sunlight streaming in through the hole in the roof did not reach.  That area was empty, but everywhere else surrounding the arena was not.

Faces peered in at her from all sides, some she knew, some she faintly recognized, others she did not know at all.  She caught sight of Gaia just to the left of the throne alcove, and gave her a pleading glance, but her face was a mask of impassive stoicism which offered no sympathy.  The crowd spoke to each other in hushed murmurs and Clarke couldn't make out what anyone was saying.   

A loud metallic scraping cut through the murmur, a door opening, and Clarke watched as people began to file into the throne alcove.  First came Miller.

"Miller!" Clarke called out his name pleadingly, but he wouldn’t even look at her.  He kept his eyes steadfastly forward, apparently staring into the middle distance.  In fact, nobody present acted as though she had said anything at all.  

 _Then again, maybe that's for the best,_ she thought miserably.   _What could he do, even if he wanted to?_ After all these years she barely recognized him.  His face showed the mark of lean, terrible years.

Indra followed next.  Somewhere within the stern mask of her face, Clarke thought she could see something like regret, but it was hard to be sure… Indra always had been so very difficult to read.    

_No point trying to get her attention… there’s nothing she could do for me either._

The third retainer followed, someone Clarke recognized but didn't know very well.  Kara Cooper… a woman originally from Farm Station, Clarke had been told, who led an attempted insurrection about a month after Praimfaya, when it was discovered that the inhabitants of the bunker were trapped there.  Clarke never would've guessed it, after meeting Cooper herself.  She bore the partial mark of Wonkru tattooed on her forehead, and served Octavia with almost slavish devotion.  As she took her place next to the throne, she looked down at Clarke with undisguised contempt.  The angular lines of her thin face stood out in the harsh lighting.

Finally, Octavia entered.

Clarke felt an unexpected chill go through her as the Red Queen emerged from the doorway.  She had applied her full face paint, like she'd been wearing the day the bunker was cracked open, the deep red on her forehead accentuating the darkness and deep shadows around her eyes, her beautiful high cheekbones, her dark hair hanging like a curtain to frame her face.  She had also worn her armor, and a ragged red cape that draped over her shoulders and trailed on the floor behind her.

Octavia, like most of those in the bunker, had become visibly leaner since Praimfaya, all the elegant lines that made her so strikingly beautiful standing out now more than ever.  She wore the hard years well on her face, and looked stronger now than she had before. 

And far more frightening.

 _The Octavia I remember is still in there, somewhere… isn't she?  …That’s what I want to believe.  But…_   

As Octavia came to stand in front of the railing the crowd began to chant, "Blodreina!  Blodreina!" until the din reverberated through the arena and the individual sounds were lost, blended together.  As the chanting and cheering reached a fever pitch Octavia slowly raised a single hand and one by one, everyone fell silent.  It was so quiet now Clarke could hear her own rapid breathing, the sound of her heart beating hard in her ears.  Blodreina projected such a strong sense of terrible power without even saying a word.

_It's not hard to see why they all follow her._

Octavia leaned over the railing and looked down at Clarke imperiously, her dark eyes cold and hard, but said nothing. Clarke strained to hear as Indra approached Octavia and said _something_ in her ear, but they were too far away to be heard.  Something like a frown flickered across Octavia's face, too quickly to comprehend the meaning, and after a second, she nodded.  Gaia caught Octavia's gaze, nodding as well, but Clarke couldn't see Octavia's reaction at all then.

Something about the unspoken communication between those three seemed very significant, and Clarke turned it over and over in her head with no answers as the Red Queen went back through the door next to the throne, only to reemerge from a side door in the fence into the arena proper.  Hushed whispers chased through the crowd, no one daring to be louder.  Octavia's footsteps echoed in the chamber.  The tension in the air lay thickly upon everyone.

Clarke swallowed hard as Blodreina approached her, her face entirely unreadable, like she was deliberately keeping a blank expression.  Clarke forced herself to meet Octavia's eyes and held back a fearful shudder at the harsh emptiness she saw within.  It was so different from the energetic, feisty, bright-eyed girl who had first emerged from the drop ship all those years ago.  

Clarke's mind raced.  Given her current situation, it seemed obvious Octavia intended to execute her, or _maybe_ , if Clarke was lucky, she'd get a chance to fight for her life.  Yet, she couldn't put the silent exchange she witnessed out of her head, and something just felt… strange.

_I feel like I'm missing something very important… But, if she isn’t intending to kill me or force me to fight to the death, then what?  Why did she bring me here?_

There was no time for her to ruminate on it further.  Without saying a word, Octavia slowly pulled out her sword, the scraping of the metal against the scabbard sharp in Clarke's ears.

_I **have** to try and talk to her… there has to be something I can do to stop this._

"Octavia, wait.  Please listen to me, you don't have t—!" Clarke began to argue, but Octavia cut her off by leveling the sword at her neck, the sharp point just barely touching the skin.  Clarke's breath caught abruptly in her throat.  She fought to regain her train of thought, her voice shaking a little with suppressed anxiety.

" _Please_ , Octavia, you don't want to do this," she repeated. "Please—if you'll just—"

"Be _quiet_ ," Blodreina snapped, pressing the sword just a little more into Clarke's throat.  The blade pierced the skin and Clarke winced as a thin trickle of blood dripped down her neck and onto her shirt.

“You can’t stop this, Clarke,” Octavia said coldly.  Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke saw Gaia give an imperceptible nod, her face still an unreadable mask.

_What's **really** going on here?_

“Octavia _wait,_ ” Clarke pressed, “We can figure something out… listen to me, we can come up with something…”   She felt cold sweat beading on the back of her neck and dripping down the back of her shirt, anxiety ramping up higher and higher, with every breath more difficult to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"I said, _be quiet,_ " Octavia commanded icily.  Her voice rang out harshly, echoing in the confined space. "I'm so _tired_ of listening to you talk, Clarke."  She took a step closer, the low light of the arena casting eerie shadows around her face, carefully moving the sword to keep the blade against Clarke’s throat without cutting in too deeply.  Clarke’s heart beat so rapidly she could feel it beneath the skin of her neck, the sting of the blade still pressed into her skin, the heat of her blood trickling down her chest. 

“Octavia _please_ —”

" _Enough_!"

Octavia deftly pulled the sword away from Clarke’s neck, took a fistful of her hair with her free hand, and yanked her downward, forcing her onto her back on the sticky arena floor.  Her shoulders hit the ground hard, the restraints around her wrists digging into her back.  Clarke cried out at the painful impact, immediately trying to right herself, but Octavia’s grip was firm.  The spectators let out gasps of anticipatory excitement, and as Clarke blinked back the tears in her eyes she saw that Miller had averted his gaze completely.

The Red Queen climbed on top of her, pinning her with her weight, and Clarke struggled without really thinking about it, but it was immediately apparent that Octavia was considerably stronger.  Her legs were all lean muscle and where the armor did not cover, the muscles of her arms stood out in the flickering light.  Her shoulders flexed as she tightened her grip on Clarke's hair painfully and resheathed her sword.

"No more excuses, Clarke," Blodreina said. She paused, as if collecting her thoughts.  "Today, you will submit to me.  Today I'll show _everyone_ what your proper place is— _beneath_ me."  

More gasps, approving murmurs from the crowd.  Clarke's eyes widened, her mind rapidly trying to put the pieces together, Octavia’s referring to "submission", the way Octavia had her pinned beneath her now… such a possibility hadn’t even occurred to her, but could it be… _No, surely she can’t mean… there’s no way… !_

"Yes, that's it, _finally_ she figures it out," Blodreina said contemptuously.  "I'm going to take you, Clarke.  Here, now, so that everyone can see where you really belong.  So that _you_ and everyone else _understand_."  She paused, leaning down closer to Clarke’s face.  “I will conquer you, _Wanheda,_ and when I'm done you'll finally see how wrong you were to stand against me.”  

_Oh god… in front of all these people… ?!_

A chaotic ruckus arose from the crowd something between cheers and bloodthirsty roars.  Octavia allowed them to carry on for a moment before raising a hand and again they all fell silent as before.  It was several moments before Clarke regained her ability to speak, her mouth hanging half open in shock.   

"Wh… _what_?!”

“I said, _submit_ , Clarke,” Octavia ordered again.  Clarke could scarcely believe what she was seeing—hearing—what Octavia was actually commanding her to do.  In front of all these people, people Clarke _knew…_ and so many strangers…The one tiny, small mercy was that her mother wasn't among them.

“I-I, that's—I _can't_ —” Clarke choked, suddenly having a hard time constructing a full sentence. "No, no I—"

“You are Wonkru, or you are the enemy of Wonkru,” Blodreina interrupted. “ _Choose_.”  Clarke felt the threat in every bone in her body.  Her skin prickled at the words.

 _I have no choice… if, if I refuse, she'll…_ Clarke felt a sick sensation like the bottom was rapidly dropping out of her stomach.  She looked away, unable to hold Octavia’s terrible gaze any longer, forcing down the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.  

 _Even as far gone as she is now, I didn't think she'd do something like **this** …  but if I don't comply, I don't know if I'll be able to protect Madi… I can't let that happen.  _She looked down at the floor, gritting her teeth in helpless frustration.  A threat to her life was nothing new, but _this_ … ?

"Octavia… I…"

The spectators jeered disapprovingly and Clarke shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut like that would block them out.  She tried, unsuccessfully, not to picture their faces.  _Miller, Indra, Gaia, Jackson, Niylah…_

It didn't matter.  Blodreina allowed her no such reprieve.  She yanked upward on Clarke's hair and hit her hard across the face.

Clarke yelped in pain, her eyes opening automatically in shock, a couple of the tears that had been threatening to spill out trickling down her cheeks.

"Oh no.  You don't get to _hide_ from this, Clarke," Octavia growled.  She let go of Clarke's hair—Clarke nearly hit her head on the floor as she fell back down—and retrieved a small knife from a holster on her thigh, seizing the front of Clarke's shirt in the other hand.

Then, more quietly, almost bitterly, Octavia added, "You don’t _have_ a choice.  Neither of us does."

"Octavia, please…"

A couple more tears slowly rolled down Clarke's face.  Octavia stabbed the knife into the shirt and began to cut.  

The blade was incredibly sharp and the tip of it scratched and bit into Clarke's skin as Octavia roughly hacked the shirt in two, pulling it apart as she went.  Clarke hissed in pain, her senses heightened by fear, every little nick and cut accompanied by a burst of adrenaline. 

When Octavia was finished with the shirt she quickly pulled the layered bra beneath that upward and sliced through it, taking a little more effort to rip the thicker fabric.  Closer to her skin, the knife scratched and cut her each time Octavia made another cut in the fabric, and Clarke winced, her little hisses of pain more frequent and louder.  Blood oozed from the cuts, glossy and dark, inky stains spreading where it contacted her clothes.

“Ah—ffhh, nh…!”

A particularly rough final cut dug the knife in more deeply just below Clarke's breastbone and she cried out in pain, more tears forced from her eyes no matter how hard she tried to hold them back.  With a loud ripping sound Octavia tore the clothes in half, and the spectators again roared their approval.  The chilly air abruptly hit Clarke's exposed skin and she shivered.  Without thinking about it, she pulled pointlessly against her restraints, trying to pull her shoulders together… like she could cover herself.  Her face burned with more than just fear.  

_Like that would matter in any way at all…  It wouldn't protect me from what she’s going to do to me…_

Worse still, the audience seemed to enjoy seeing her struggle, as another chorus of cheering arose as Clarke strained and flexed her shoulders as hard as she could trying to get her wrists free.  The cuffs dug hard into her wrists, metal pressing into the skin until it hurt, but there was no way she'd be able to break free.  Useless.  

Octavia didn't waste any time.  She backed off Clarke slightly and hooked the knife under the waistband of her pants next, the tip of it breaking the skin there too as she started cutting.  With each cut the blade dug into Clarke's skin, the closer-fitting pants left no room for it to do otherwise, and Clarke found it harder to suppress her pained whimpers.  The cuts weren't usually very deep, but they just kept coming, and she already had so many… All over her chest and stomach the cuts Octavia had already inflicted slowly oozed, the blood felt so sticky and hot on her skin.

"Hnn… mmf, ah—!"

Blodreina seemed… satisfied at the way Clarke's body jerked each time she cut her, the whimpering and trembling she was trying so hard to hold back.  She could read it on Clarke's tear-streaked face.  When Octavia had managed to hack the pants apart halfway down the leg, she set down the knife, grasped both ragged edges, and pulled as hard as she could.  Clarke yelped involuntarily as the pants quickly shredded and tore the rest of the way down her leg.  Octavia picked up the knife again and made similarly short work of the other leg, and after that, it took only seconds for Octavia to pull the ruined garment the rest of the way off Clarke.      

The crowd cheered uproariously.  Octavia held the destroyed pants above her head like a trophy and the cheering swelled further.  Clarke felt a renewed flush of shame rising to her cheeks.

Blodreina tossed the pants aside, sheathed the knife, and took hold of Clarke's underwear with both hands, apparently concluding she didn't need the knife to get them off.   

"You can still stop this," Clarke whispered to her, pleadingly.  "You… you don't have to… you've already shown that you… please, Octavia, I’ll…"  She couldn’t finish, couldn't even articulate her thoughts properly, not even knowing what she could offer Octavia that might stop her from what she was doing now.

Octavia looked sharply into her eyes, a flash of anger briefly igniting within the hollow emptiness.  "I _told_ you," she murmured, a tinge of sadness in her voice.  "Neither of us has a choice in this."

With a quick pull to either side she ripped Clarke's underwear in half and tore the pieces of fabric all the way off her, throwing them away as though disposing of something offensive.  Clarke’s bisected shirt lay loosely gathered on the floor on either side of her, kept from being completely removed only by her bound wrists.  She was completely exposed, and for all the times she'd been someone's prisoner before, she'd never felt helpless quite in _this_ way.  She felt her mouth going dry and kept pleading, so quietly she knew full well that Octavia couldn't hear her over the crowd.What difference would it make, anyway?

"Octavia, please don't do this… please…"

Automatically, without even thinking, Clarke tried to close her legs, _something_ to feel less exposed, but Octavia had apparently expected that, and yanked her legs apart again so roughly it sent a pang of pain through her hips.

"Ngh—!"

Blodreina quickly shifted to sit on one of Clarke's legs, pulling the other up in a painfully hard grip and resting it vertically against her body.  Clarke shivered, her heart pounding with renewed anxiety… she was even more exposed than before.

"Don't fucking try that again," Blodreina commanded dangerously.  

Above even the roaring crowd Clarke could hear her blood rushing in her ears.

"Octavia, don't—" Clarke begged, crying out as Octavia slapped her across the face again.  The tears Clarke had been trying so hard to hold in for all this time finally spilled forth in earnest and ran down her face.

"I told you to _shut up_ , Clarke!" Octavia spat.  “Just, _stop_ talking.”

Clarke gasped as Octavia reached between her legs, fingertips just brushing against her as she spread her open.  Clarke shivered at the touch in spite of herself, her breath coming even faster.

And _then—_ she didn’t _want_ to think of it, in order that it not be mixed up with _this,_ but Clarke suddenly and vividly recalled another, very different time she’d been with Octavia, many years ago… but not in front of anyone, nothing like this, not with that terrifying coldness in those beautiful dark eyes… remembering how it had felt when Octavia touched her _then_ , her lean body pressed against Clarke’s, the sound of her husky voice murmuring and moaning in her ears, so wild and so beautiful and so much like her brother yet so different—

Clarke tried to shake her head to rid herself of the images, the memory.   _No, no!  I don’t want to think about that **now** … it’s not the same, **she’s** not the same anymore.   _

But it was too late.  An unwanted and entirely too strong wave of _warmth_ washed over Clarke, and she shuddered and let out a soft whimper of a different sort.

_I don't understand…_

"No… " she murmured despairingly, as much at herself as Octavia.

"Take a good look, everyone," Blodreina called out to the crowd.  They shouted and roared their approval, with a few whistles and hoots mixed in for good measure.  Clarke tried not to look at the people all around her but couldn't stop herself from glancing over at the group nearest her.  

There was nobody she immediately recognized, but all their eyes were fixed on her, watching so closely… she could almost feel their eyes raking over her body like sets of hands.

Clarke shut her eyes but almost immediately, Octavia hit her again.

“The least you can do is _look at me_ when I’m about to fuck you,” the Red Queen growled angrily, grabbing her chin and forced her mouth open, shoving a few fingers past her lips.

“Mmf—?!”

When Octavia spoke next the slight softness her voice had taken on was jarring, and it sounded so much like the Octavia that Clarke remembered, the dissonance was painful—

"Well?"  was all she said, but…

Unexpectedly, terribly, Clarke felt another flush of heat rising within her, and she whimpered with renewed shame and embarrassment.  Her face felt like it was on fire.   

_No!  No, I don't… I don't want… What the hell is wrong with me?!_

Helplessly, she obeyed Octavia's unspoken command, sucking on her fingers, moving her tongue over them almost frantically, willing her body to provide enough spit to make any difference.  

_She’s going to keep going regardless…_

She could hear Octavia's breathing too, faster, shallower, the huskiness in her voice from a moment ago now more obvious in its source.  

 _Oh god… Is she… enjoying this?_ Clarke wondered with a confusing mix of horror and a renewed surge of arousal that made her groan softly around Octavia's fingers.   _I don't… know if that's better, or worse… I don't know **how** to feel… _

The Red Queen withdrew her fingers from Clarke's mouth, and Clarke found herself panting for breath, her mouth still hanging open.

"Haah… hhh…"

"That's better," said Blodreina, and that huskiness in her voice was no less pronounced.  "Let everyone see what you're _really_ like… If I didn’t know any better I would say you’re _enjoying_ this now."

The crowd cheered and another flush of unwanted arousal washed over Clarke even as she squeezed her eyes shut in shame, and then Octavia thrust her fingers inside her in one forceful motion and Clarke moaned sharply, she couldn't _help it,_ it wasn’t her fault if it felt _good—_

"A-aaahh—!! Nnn, no—"

"You know, Clarke, you're so predictable…" Blodreina muttered.  She started fucking her with her fingers, not bothering to start slowly, with erratic, fast thrusts that shook Clarke's body each time she buried her fingers inside her again.  Clarke moaned, gasping with each thrust, she couldn't stop herself, it felt good _—_ Octavia’s long fingers seemed to be hitting all the right places inside—

"Hnn, ahh!- _ah—_ ahh—"

"You act like you always know better, like you're _above_ the rest of us," Octavia continued harshly, the smooth delivery of her words only interrupted by her own faster breathing. "But look at you now."  A terrible, hollow little laugh that made Clarke shiver all over.  "You haven’t changed much since the _last time_."

To have Octavia _herself_ remind her of it made everything worse, but more terribly still, Clarke knew she was _right_.  

"Ahhhhn, _hhnn_ , I'm, I'm _not_ —ahh—!"

Clarke cried out as Octavia struck her again.  The redness on her cheeks was as much from the repeated strikes as her own vivid flush.

" _Liar_!  Lying to me again, like you always do.   _I_ never get the truth from you, do I?"

Clarke heard the spectators as more of a distant roar, now, it was becoming more and more difficult to think clearly, as Octavia roughly fucked her with her fingers, the shame of her own enjoyment dripping slowly down her pinned leg.  To be added to the long-dried blood all over the floor; an invisible, but indelible proof.  Octavia's strong fingers hit against a sensitive spot deep inside Clarke with every thrust, buried inside her down to the knuckles.  She was impacting it so roughly that with each burst of pleasure there was an accompanying stab of pain and the muddled sensations amplified her shame at each moan that was wrung from her.

“Ahhn—ah, _Octavia_ —ahhn, please, _d-don't_ —nh, s, stop—”

The utter humiliation, that she was moaning her name now, just as she had those years ago in what may as well have been another world, was not lost on Clarke, but she’d already done it, she couldn’t take it back now.  Tears trickled steadily down her cheeks.  She had no more will to hold them in.

"You're such a _hypocrite_ ," Blodreina murmured softly, "and now I'm going to take you in front of everyone and show them all just how _weak_ and helpless you _really_ are."

Renewed cheers and whistles of approval erupted from the crowd on all sides.  Clarke felt her muscles clenching around Octavia's long fingers, her body responding whether she wanted it to or not.  

"Aaah, hnn, please, _ah_ —ahh—!"

With her free hand the Red Queen subtly gestured to someone up in the throne alcove.  The noise of the audience subsided slightly for a few moments and then Clarke could hear footsteps as someone came down the steps, the squeak of the fence as they entered the rotunda.  It was Gaia, and she was carrying something.

“Blodreina.  Here,” Gaia said simply.

Octavia pulled her fingers out and Clarke let out a whimper, shuddering at the sudden emptiness, no longer sure if she was grateful for the reprieve.

“Don’t move,” Octavia ordered her, taking the object from Gaia and then nodding to dismiss her.  Gaia closed her eyes briefly in silent assent and retreated just as quickly from the arena. 

It was only then Clarke realized exactly _what_ Gaia had brought for Octavia—a strap-on attached to a harness.  It was hard to tell what the shaft was made of, but at least it didn't appear to be metal.  Where she could have gotten it Clarke didn't know, but she swallowed nervously… the strap-on was _big,_ it looked bigger than anything she’d ever taken before.  

"Octavia, no, _wait—_ "

She gave a startled yelp as Octavia grabbed her legs, using them as leverage to twist her whole body sideways, still moving her—she knew what was coming but—

"On your knees, Clarke," Blodreina ordered.  Clarke flailed as she tried to move _some_ how—to cooperate?  To get away?—but with her bound wrists it wasn't much use one way or another.  Octavia did most of the work for her, shoving the front of her body forward hard into the floor, grabbing her hips and pulling them up toward her.

Clarke could hear but not see, with her face pressed against the floor, as Octavia fastened the strap-on in place.  She shivered with shameful anticipation, her fluids trickling down her legs and dripping onto the floor. 

 _What is wrong with me… I don't understand…_   

Blodreina positioned herself behind Clarke, leaning over her, taking hold of her bound wrists.  Clarke's breath hitched in her throat when she felt the tip of the strap-on rub against her—then Octavia yanked her back towards her, shoving it deep inside her in one hard thrust—

"Ahh— _hh_!!"

The spectators whooped and shouted their approval, some shouting things Clarke couldn't make out in the chaos.  The Red Queen pulled back and again jerked Clarke back towards her, using Clarke's whole body as leverage to fuck her bruisingly hard.  Clarke could hear Octavia's shaky, rapid breathing even above the crowd, but otherwise she made little sound.  

"Hhff—hh—"

Blodreina fucked her mercilessly, obviously not caring if she hurt her, but the wet sounds that seemed so loud now in the rotunda attested to just how _wet_ Clarke had become, and that only amplified the shame, but she still couldn’t keep from moaning.  Whatever the strap-on was made of was smooth and fairly hard with only some give, and she felt every inch.  It hurt, it was too _much_ , too _fast_ , and yet…

"Ahh— _ahnn-hff, ah_ —!!"

With each thrust the cold metal edges of Octavia’s armor dug into Clarke’s legs and ass, hard enough to sting and for sharp edges to scratch and cut, and she cried out as Octavia briefly let go of her wrists to dig her nails into her ass and hoist her hips slightly up, so that each time she thrust into her the strap-on hit as deep inside as it could go.  Sparks flared in Clarke’s eyes with the rough impact, an aching radiating inside her with each hit.  Clarke's skin still prickled and stung all over from the cuts as she was shoved into the floor and whimpers of pain mixed in with each moan.

“Hhff—ah!—ahhn, ah— _o-ow, ah—nnh—_ ”

The Red Queen didn’t slow down, her hips snapping forward erratically, never quite managing a steady rhythm and so Clarke could never acclimate to any of it.  She writhed on the stone floor, Octavia’s rough thrusts forcing each moan out of her in a ragged gasp, though it was only half audible with her face pressed into the floor—

—until Octavia shifted her grip again, grabbing Clarke’s hair and jerking her head back painfully timed with a particularly hard thrust that forced more tears from Clarke’s eyes—she couldn't stop those any more than she could keep from moaning—

“O-Octavia—hhhgk— _ahh!!_ ”

—pain shot through her but the friction felt so good, her body beginning to build tension whether she wanted it to or not.  Each moan, each sound was gasped out through tears, the thrusts hard enough to steal her breath, it was all she could do just to keep breathing.  

 "You know, hhf, I think I _know_ why you aren't fighting anymore," Octavia said, too quietly for most of the audience to hear over Clarke's cries. "Because deep down, hhn, you think you _deserve_ this for everything you’ve done."

The words hurt even more than what Octavia was doing and Clarke choked back a sob, trying to protest, to say Octavia was wrong somehow, but—

"Hhnf, a-ah! Nh, n-no, I— _ahh_ - _nh_!!"

“I wasn’t _asking_ for your opinion, Clarke,” Octavia growled harshly, panting with exertion, her head bowed slightly, dark hair hanging around her face.

“Hah—ah—"

—Octavia pulled out suddenly, grabbed Clarke’s sides and wrenched her sideways so abruptly Clarke’s legs impacted the floor as she fell to the side and then onto her back like before, pain shooting through her legs, her shoulders, her ribs.  

“Ngh—!”

Octavia pushed Clarke’s legs apart again and shoved the strap-on back inside her with no warning, resuming her rough thrusts with a renewed energy.  Clarke’s cries echoed in the large open space and the spectators drank in every moan and whimper—

“A- _ah_ , _please_ —nhhf, ah, _ahh_ —!”

“You _see,_ Clarke?" Octavia spat.  “You’re so _worthless_.”

“A-ahh, _ah_!—ahhn—I’m—”

"And deep down, hhf, you _know_ that, don’t you?” the Red Queen murmured.  Clarke made a strangled noise, struggling, though she knew it was so pointless, Octavia could easily overpower her even if her wrists hadn’t been bound.  

“Nnngh, n-no —”   

"I _will_ break you, Clarke," Blodreina breathed, her voice more strained than before. "We'll see how much of this, hff, you can actually take."

"Ah-ahh—n, _no_ , ahhn no Octavia _please—_ "

"How long, hhhf, will it take for _your_ body to give out, I wonder?  Until you can't take anymore?"  She shifted the angle of her hips, holding onto Clarke's legs and fucking her into the floor so hard it shook Clarke's entire body with each punishing thrust.

"Ah—!—ahhn, hff, _please_ , Octavia, _s-stop—_ "

Octavia slapped Clarke again, timed with a particularly hard thrust and Clarke's moan broke briefly into a sound like a sob.  

" _No_ ," said Blodreina, her voice like cold steel.  "You are _not_ in control here."  She wrapped one strong hand around Clarke's throat and Clarke's eyes grew wide, she struggled anew, trying to suck in a big breath before the pressure of Octavia's hand forced her to breathe in shallow, rapid gasps—her moans sounded scratchy as she fought to breathe, and Octavia didn't stop fucking her or even slow down—

"Hhh—hah—pl, _please_ —"

"Go on, then," Octavia continued, jerking her head in the direction of the audience. "Say it, so all of them can hear."  She laughed harshly, cold and empty as the howling of frigid wind.  “That is, if you can manage to talk."

_I… I have to, I have no choice—_

Clarke thrashed and fought for breath, gasping the words out in a voice which no longer felt like her own.

“Y-yes—I submit, I _submit_ —” she cried, still struggling against Octavia’s hand, dark shadows creeping into the corners of her vision in flickering waves, her chest ached for lack of air—

“Tell them!” the Red Queen demanded, tightening her grip further around Clarke’s neck, her nails digging hard into her skin, long fingers pressed hard against her throat.      

Clarke sucked in a half-breath and tried to cough, though nothing came out but a strangled gasp, her throat and chest burned, she had to comply very quickly or she was going to pass out—dull _and_ sharp pain both shot through her hips with each thrust, her dark blood slowly trickling down her legs from where Octavia’s armor scratched her over and over again—and yet, she was so _close_ , the hard thrusts wringing pleasure forcibly out of her as surely as they hurt, her body inexorably ramping up whether she wanted to or not—and it felt as though the last thread of resistance within her suddenly snapped and unravelled—

“I-I submit to—you—Blodreina—!” she managed to cry out, and finally Octavia loosened her grip.  Clarke coughed and sucked in several huge breaths,

“Listen well, everyone!” Octavia called out.  

The crowd gave a deafening roar of approval and began chanting “Blodreina!  Blodreina!” and Clarke shuddered and moaned, shivering as her body finally reached its peak, crying out with a moan that sounded more like a sob—

“Ha-aah, _Octavia_ —nh, aah- _aahh_ —!”

She felt her muscles spasming around the strap-on, Octavia hadn’t slowed down—as though each thrust forced another wave of pleasure from her body Clarke moaned and thrashed in place involuntarily.  Octavia didn’t stop fucking her even as the continued thrusts became too much—her nerve endings pushed to the limit, oversensitized and wracked with spasms, Clarke whimpered and gasped out with her voice scratchy and raw from crying and moaning—

"You're _disgusting,_ " Blodreina hissed. "You think I can't _tell_ that you just came?  Maybe you _don't_ want me to stop after all."

Clarke pleaded incoherently, her words almost impossible to make out, “N-no more, ahh, hff, _please_ , I-I can’t—can’t take any—ah—more, please, I’ll—”

“I _can_ stop, if you will prove to me you _meant_ what you said,” said Octavia coldly.  “But do you?”

“Yes!  Yes I’ll—hhk—do any, anything just _please_ —”

The crowd cheered, though whether they were in favor of any mercy for Clarke she couldn’t tell, but apparently Octavia could, because with a final hard thrust that forced a louder sob from Clarke, she pulled out, letting Clarke slump down to the floor.  Clarke breathed shallowly, trying to catch her breath.

Octavia sharply raised one hand and the spectators abruptly quieted.  She reached down between Clarke's legs and almost delicately wetted her fingers with her fluids, then licked the fluids off.  Next, she slowly ran both hands down Clarke’s body, picking up a long smear of dark blood as she went.  Clarke jolted, wincing as Octavia’s fingers pulled at the myriad scratches and cuts.

Octavia glanced back up at the spectators, then closed her eyes and ceremoniously licked one hand from palm to fingertip.  The nightblood tasted strange, almost chemical in comparison with the comparatively mundane coppery-metallic taste of normal blood, very much like something artificial.  She forced down a cough; the taste was sharp and hardly pleasant, but it had to be done.  

Then, Blodreina smoothed both hands down her face, smearing Clarke’s blood on her cheeks and down her neck.  Like ink, the dark blood seemed to highlight the shadows beneath Octavia's eyes.  She looked back down at Clarke, a beautiful and terrifying sight.

“You barely even deserve _this_ ,” Octavia said quietly.  She removed the strap-on and set it aside, showing no sign of embarrassment at her partial nakedness.  She climbed on top of Clarke, shifting forward to get her thighs on either side of Clarke's head.  Octavia's scent filled Clarke's nose, almost enough to block out the ever-present smell of old dried blood all around them.  

Blodreina took hold of Clarke's hair, not saying a word.  She didn’t have to for Clarke to know what she had to do.  She started licking her slowly, letting her tongue lightly rest on her clit as she moved it up and down without ever moving away.  Octavia made a soft sound in her throat, a little shiver going through her body, an encouraging sign.  Clarke kept up the soft, little motions, her tongue moving up and down with a consistent pressure.

She didn’t want to think about what would happen if, even accidentally, she did something Octavia didn’t like.

"Hnn… ah…” Octavia breathed softly, moving her hips slightly in a rhythm with Clarke’s tongue.  Remembering what Octavia had liked in the past and praying that hadn't changed, Clarke lightly closed her lips around Octavia's clit and applied a little pressure, sucking very gently as she continued the slow movements of her tongue.

"Ah… nnh, that’s more like it, _ah_ —"

Even the faint suggestion of something like praise drew a faint whine from Clarke, and she kept up the movement, concentrating on maintaining just the right rhythm, the right amount of pressure.  Octavia slumped forward slightly, tightening her grip on Clarke’s hair, her soft moans a little louder.  In spite of herself, Clarke still loved the sound of it.

“Nh—ahhn, ah…”

Gradually Clarke sped up, flicking her tongue more rapidly, moaning softly at the taste—it was a little difficult to breathe with the way Octavia was sitting on her face but she didn't care anymore, right now the most important thing was pleasing her—

"A-ah… _Clarke_ …" Octavia moaned, quietly enough it was unlikely anyone heard her but Clarke.  Clarke jolted with a strangled noise at the sound of her name, a mix of emotions too chaotic and contradictory  to process.

_I don't—I don't know how to feel anymore—_

She responded by licking faster, swallowing the trickle of Octavia's fluids that steadily dripped into her mouth and down her chin.  Octavia's moans grew louder, shakier and closer together, her lean, toned thighs squeezing down on either side of Clarke's head, Clarke could tell she had to be getting close…

"Nh-hhhhh, _ah—_ "  Octavia's moans were louder now, especially with the way the audience had become so quiet.  In sharp contrast to their almost frenzied energy while Octavia had been fucking Clarke, now the atmosphere was almost reverent.   

Clarke held Octavia's clit between her lips and flicked her tongue more rapidly, feeling Octavia's body shudder with each lick, the grip on her hair so hard it hurt.

"More—hnn, _faster_ —" Octavia ordered, her voice strained and breathy.

  Clarke obeyed, licking as fast as she could manage, putting every last scrap of energy she had into moving her tongue and keeping up the rhythm.   She could tell Octavia was so close, it would only take a little more, and then—

"Hh—ahh—Cla— _hnn_!!"

Octavia pressed her hips hard forward against Clarke's tongue as she came, Clarke's jaw ached but she didn't dare stop with the way Octavia was moaning and rocking her hips against her tongue with deep, shuddering gasps, almost grinding against Clarke's mouth as her body twitched and tensed through her orgasm.

Finally, with a slow, shaky breath like she was collecting her composure, Octavia released her hold on Clarke's hair and shifted back off her face, sitting on her chest to catch her breath.  Clarke took a few deep breaths of her own, as much as she could with Octavia's weight on her chest anyway.  Octavia’s fluids had dripped all over her face and she licked her lips without thinking about it.

Gaia's voice rang out, her words sounding formal, almost rehearsed.  "Blodreina, has Clarke Griffin acceded to your will?"

Octavia looked down at Clarke appraisingly before returning her gaze to her people.  Clarke strained to see the faces of the spectators, something to gauge their moods.

"Yes,” said Octavia.  Pause.  “She will not die today.”

The audience cheered and began chanting, "Blodreina!  Blodreina!" as Octavia stood, somewhat shakily, retrieving the armor piece she had tossed aside and reattaching it.  Gaia nodded and gestured at the crowd, and the chanting gradually subsided as people began to leave, their voices down to the murmur of normal conversation. A hundred footsteps echoed in the chamber as they left.  

Clarke didn’t even notice when Miller came down into the arena beside her, until Octavia said something to him.

“Miller… Get her out of here,” she ordered, waving her hand dismissively at Clarke.  "I don't want to look at her any longer." 

Miller swallowed uncomfortably, then replied, “Of course, Blodreina,” pointedly avoiding looking at Clarke.  He paused, considering his words.  “Should I put her in a holding cell?”

Octavia seemed to consider that for a moment, then slowly shook her head.  

"No,” she replied.  “I'm finished with her right now.  As long as she doesn't try to leave Polis, she can go wherever she wants.”  She looked Clarke over where she lay on the floor, her face covered in Octavia’s fluids, her body covered with a sheen of sweat and dark dried blood, her eyes red from tears, the mess of her own fluids coating her thighs.  Dark bruises already bloomed on her neck, her legs, her shoulders. 

Miller jerked a nod, stony-faced.  “Yes, Blodreina.”  He knelt down next to Clarke, taking a gentler hold of her shoulders than she expected as he got her to her feet.  Her legs refused to support her, violently shaking when she attempted to stand without leaning on Miller.  Everywhere below her stomach throbbed and stung, the soreness centered between her legs and radiating up inside her.  She suspected she had some bruising _inside_ as well as outside.  

She willed her legs to cooperate as he nudged her forward with a quiet, “Come on.”

Clarke nodded shakily, too exhausted to speak.  She managed to look over her shoulder at Octavia as she left, wincing with each stumbling step.  The Red Queen offered her nothing. 

Miller reached behind Clarke and unlocked the cuffs around her wrists as he led her out.  As they approached the other door out of the arena, he turned away from her, his expression wooden.  Clarke turned to say something, anything, to him, but he gave her a shove as he pushed open the door and she stumbled through——

 

——losing her balance and falling onto the floor in the diffusely lit hallway of _Eligius IV_.

_What?! … … … uh … ? …wait… what, what… ?!_

She blinked rapidly, shook her head, rubbed at her eyes, trying to reconcile what had just transpired with what she was seeing now.  

_But, that can't be,  I was— no, I've got to find Madi—but, **here**?  How?!— where is Bellamy—_

As Clarke fought through a messy jumble of thoughts, struggling to orient herself temporally as well as physically, ALIE appeared above her, tilting her head just slightly to look down at her.

"Clarke?" ALIE peered at her with a faintly disapproving raised eyebrow.  “Are you finished?”

Clarke shook her head a couple more times like that would clear her thoughts and finally, seeing ALIE, _reality_ , the actual _present_ situation, caught up to her.  Josephine, her body, the mindspace she now found herself in… she glanced down at herself as she got to her feet and only then realized that all her clothes were back as though nothing had happened.  Somehow, though, all the aching and residual pain was still present, though the bruises and cuts all over her body apparently were not.

_None of that was… !  Wait, so, that wasn’t…  Oh my god… so, I… That came from **me**?   _

"Using your mindspace for some sort of self-punishment is not productive, Clarke,” ALIE said calmly, delicately lacing her fingers together.  “But I suppose it is not unreasonable that you would have some difficulty comprehending your current state immediately.”  

"I didn't… mean to do that?" Clarke defended, though it came out more like a question. _I didn’t even realize it wasn’t real until…_   

"Did it make you feel better?" ALIE asked, tilting her head with her typical inscrutable smile.  Clarke's brow furrowed as she considered the question.

 _Did it… ?_ Clarke sighed heavily, getting to her feet."I… I don't know."

"Humans are so strange," said ALIE.  She frowned slightly. "Irrelevant, in any case.  Follow me.  You have work to do.” 

Without waiting for Clarke to answer, the AI turned on her immaculate high heels and soundlessly walked down the hall.  Clarke shook her head a final time, forcing herself to refocus on the emergency situation at hand, and followed her, doing her utmost to force down the emotions that still churned beneath the surface. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to give a standing ovation and my heartfelt thanks to Jason Rothenberg for giving me the single greatest justification for my bullshit in years. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the twist ending~


End file.
